FortySix & 2
by Sekki
Summary: A look at the ToS events through the eyes of Kratos Aurion, including his past, present, and proposed future when it comes down to having to choose between his loyalty and his desire to protect what he holds most dear. Major spoilers.
1. 00

_**Author's Note:** I apologize in advance for any missed spelling errors or grammaticals. I've had it proofed and read several times over but it never seems to be enough. _

_ **Do NOT read this story** if you do not want to be spoiled or have not finished the game. From the beginning, this is technically a completel spoiler. You have been **WARNED**.__  
_

_As far as what to expect in this story - everything and anything. To get it out of the way, as far as shounen-ai and yaoi go, there's probably going to be some references here or there. I, for one, fully believe - and will enforce - Kratos' relationship with Anna in that he was completely in love with her and devoted to her. And furthermore, while I do realize there was plenty of room for him to have previous relationships before her; for story's sake, he hasn't and had been completely and utterly focused on Mithos up until his meeting with Anna. Just be warned I am a shounen-ai writer and while I am completely affirmed Kratos - by his character presonality and design - is in no way homsexual, that doesn't mean this fiction is going to be void 100 of the potential for some sort of homosexuality to appear. Just a warning.  
_

_This story plot follows along the Tales of Symphonia storyline, only from a different point of view than Lloyd's. In other words, nothing will stray from what Kratos sees or is involved in (therefore points in the video game where Kratos is absent will be not included in the story at all). In place, will be new original scenes to further develop Kratos and basically create a better explanation of what was going on while Lloyd and the others were trying to stop Mithos and Kratos' relationship with Anna (and a better in depth analysis of his relationship with Lloyd). So expect to see dialogue from the game, but also expect me to be a little slow sometimes on updating. This will be an intended long novelization, but I need to get script of the game. If anyone wants to direct me to Kratos script on the internet however, it would be greatly appreciated via email ._

_Also please know I'm probably going to have variations on events that have happened at times to possibly better enhance the storyline (while some might just be not the default event that you get - example: if you slip on the ice when Lloyd goes to get the item to enter the water shrine, and it breaks, the character who cares most will save him. While you don't have to slip, he probably will for story purposes). I will also add scenarios during "game time" to make the story more of a fanfiction and original content. I also am planning on altering the ending the from the game ending as I wasn't satisfied with how it went.  
_

_If you are okay with these things, please proceed. Comments are always welcome, both complimentary and critical (although if your have pointless criticism - eg: complaining about the story not followin ghte game completely, "you did it wrong" with a scene that was never in the game, etc. - you will be ignored) _

- 00 -

He never could remember anything from his dreams here.

But something about them kept him yearning for what he no longer needed.

Ever since he had returned to Derris-Kharlan, his routine had been similar: locking himself in dreams that he could never recall once his mind woke from slumber.

Yet, some unconscious and unidentifiable part of his existence did.

And it pushed the rest of him to desire more sleep than ever deemed necessary even for a human.

Without memory, he had no nightmares.

Reality was the only nightmare left.

"Kratos, you need to wake up."

Kratos Aurion buried his face farther into the pillow as the voice echoed into his mind, shattering his peaceful sleep. His senses returned to him, everything suddenly feeling uncomfortable, including the sheets to the bed in which he was entangled. Nothing was quite as comfortable as that living-dead existence that one experienced every time they surrendered themselves to the desire for rest. Perhaps if he ignored the intruder they would melt away as easily as his dreams did.

"Kratos, wake up," the voice demand, this time hands coming to grab at his shoulder blades and shake his unmoving form. "I didn't come in here to be ignored."

"Then you should know better than to come at all," Kratos sneered, lifting his face from the pillow and letting his left hand run through the mess of red-brown he called hair. Dark eyes blinked into focus and found the disrupter, his pupils narrowing in recognition, "Yuan."

"You needn't be so aggressive," Yuan replied, his head lowered and deliberately avoiding eye contact with the other seraphim. Oddly cut blue bangs concealed most of his expression from Kratos' adjusting vision, but he didn't doubt there was mockery flickering across the other's features. "Mithos was going to send a subordinate to come fetch you, but I insisted that I do it instead." He lifted his head up, arms folded across his chest, and flashed something of a smile, "And of course you'd rather have me do it than one of them, no?"

"Yuan," Kratos insisted, grumpily, "You are certainly almost the last person in existence that I would ever want to wake up to."

"Should I take comfort that a few fall lower in your favor, then?" Yuan smirked, pushing away from the wall he had taken position against after waking Kratos. His heavy cloak shifted – in over dramatic fashion, Kratos noted – as he made his way to the table and took a seat in one of the chairs facing Kratos' bed.

"Well, what is it?" Kratos sighed, pushing himself up into a sitting position on the bed. "It can't be anything important. Since the last time he asked me to do something, I didn't exactly do as ordered."

"I haven't the slightest," Yuan scoffed, refolding his arms as he remained focused on Kratos. "What makes you think I would?"

Kratos stared at him.

Defeated, Yuan sighed, "I'm assuming it has to do with the new vessel for Martel."

"Why would he want me to have _anything_ to do with the vessel for Martel? Wouldn't _you_ be a more reliable candidate?"

Yuan's gaze hardened in warning, but he let the last comment slip by. "I haven't the slightest, I suppose rumor states that it's a redeeming mission for you. Fourteen years of distrust without possible redemption is long enough, don't you think?"

_Can't say I ever really cared_, Kratos glared at Yuan, knowing what he thought was exactly what Yuan knew to be true. "Indeed," Kratos responded politely, putting up as much face to the subject as Yuan.

"Do you plan on accepting?" Yuan asked and Kratos noted the hint of caution the other seemed to take in waiting for the answer. After a moment, the seraphim finally nodded. "I might as well, it's not like I actually _care_ one way or the other."

"You used to have very strong opinions," Yuan pressed, suspicion laced in his voice. "I can't believe they all died with her."

"**Everything** died with her," Kratos snapped defensively. Yuan's expression softened when Kratos looked away, refocusing his stare to one of the walls of the room. "If Mithos expects me to _care_, then he should have controlled those pathetic glory-seeking fools a little better."

"Is that why you sleep so much?" Yuan inquired, showing interest in Kratos' babble for the next in a very rare amount of times throughout their fragile friendship.

"I do not know," Kratos responded dismissively, slipping out of the bed and heading towards the closet. "I never remember when I wake."

"You must have _some_ idea," Yuan pried. "Something that makes you feel like all that time you spend sleeping isn't wasted."

"If my idea was even a fraction of correct," Kratos said, pausing halfway dressed as he gripped onto the clothing he was shifting through, "I would never open my eyes again."

"And anyone who dared to even _try_ and wake me," he continued, pulling the shirt and pants on, "Would never have woken from a dreamless sleep themselves. Ever again."

"If you care so little now that she's gone," Yuan persisted, a quizzical look etched on his face. "Why are you even bothering to accept Mithos' mission?" Yuan rocked back and forth on the chair as he waited for an answer, holding it balanced on two legs without ever letting the two front hit the floor in his motions.

"Because, you and I both know it's easier to say yes to Mithos than to say no."

Yuan nodded his head in silent agreement. Neither of them wanted to deal with the immature and obsessive combination of forceful power that Mithos Yggdrasill had become. They tried that once with reasoning, the ending results were disastrous. Martel would be horrified to come back to them in their shattered state on top of everything else they had done. And were continuing to do.

"So you've let go of your ideals," Yuan confirmed finally with a frown, distaste slipping off his tongue.

"My ideals died with Anna and Lloyd," Kratos corrected, fixing his collar and pulling the dulled purple cape over his attire. "Dead ideals don't raise themselves unless the ones they went to the grave with raise as well."

Without another word, Kratos exited the room, idly pulling on one of his gloves in frustration, trying to stretch the slowly concocting memories back into the unreachable depths of his mind.

He'd best forget about them.

He would descend to Sylvarant, if what Yuan spoke was true, for the second time in the last century. This time, however, he would not be doing it in rebellion against Mithos' will, instead he'd be enforcing it.

_She wanted a world where all life was treated respectfully... _

Kratos shook his head, forcing the thoughts away.

Indeed, it was best that he forget them.


	2. 01

-01-

Lungs crippled against the air. His descent was at a speed no one wanted to fall at, but he took the experience with earnest, watching the ground grow more visible and concrete in his vision the further he fell.

His senses screamed in panic and excitement all at once - begging for air and hoping death would welcome with open arms - but his mind knew better than to think one way or another.

The seconds were far and few, nothing long enough for his lungs to truly suffer without air. The fast he fell, the thicker the air around him became. Human autonomics flared at the opportunity, his lungs sucking in the air even against his mind's own will. He'd done this so many times before; the fear of passing out he had eluded long ago and no longer was a concern. His lungs, despite this, still gasped for the air they could not have at the higher elevations of initial descent.

But he didn't need to breathe like this anymore. Just like he really didn't need to sleep. Or eat. Or drink water. But his body insisted to keep its instinctual wits of survival about it no matter how much his heart ached for it to let go of it all. His transparent wigs spread wide now, catching the heavy air he rushed through. There was no sense to let himself fall completely, he'd long since realized. Death would not come to him, just reminder that he could still feel pain - a sad reminder of his once human existence.

His body slowed its falling momentum, muscles tensing throughout his form for impact even as wings curved to embrace the benefit the air could give to them. While getting injured wasn't usually a concern and the fall was always the most - and perhaps only - exhilarating and free experience he had left; injury would disallow further progress of his mission.

And no further progress of his mission was failure. Failure was being too late.

There would be hell to pay if he was too late.

Finally, his feet scraped the earth in a manner nothing like his fall. The landing was graceful and controlled, only a light crouch being needed to transfer from the landing to getting the momentum to go forward towards his destination. The blue-hued wings, that so clearly defined his race, folded back submissively. Their master was never pleased of their presence nor of their signification and, as if shameful, they retreated into darkness. No bright and glorious disappearance into nothing: just the withering out of blue like death rotting over leaves.

The man ignored his surroundings, knowing all too well where he had come to. The deceivingly gentle wind rushed through his sharply cut red-brown hair as his pace quickened. He did not want to stay in this place longer than he needed to.

This was a mission of final redemption. But, it was a mission of final and last cruelty even if he succeeded. He would not let himself succumb to the final tinges of suffering Yggdrassil wished upon him, however. He would reprove his loyalty and end the needless punishment he'd endured for the past 15 years. Life was not worth the punishment to begin with, and nothing in his life was worth the effort to defy what he found so hard to turn his back on.

Yet, when he finally made it to his destination, his senses told him he was cutting his mission close. The ones he had come to prevent were already there, up the path and on top of those mighty platforms called stairs.

And so was the Chosen.

But she, from the sounds that were starting to be heard the closer he got, was not alone. And none of them were safe. To let her die would have been the merciful path and for the people to mourn the loss of their Chosen would have been what he really should have made happen. Unfortunately, he as a man of justice and righteousness had died with his wife and child. Now, he was simply an angel that thought about what was right but never let it decide his actions.

Not anymore. And never again.

His eyes were dark in hatred for everyone and everything around him as he took the last step of stairs to come upon the fight before him. Children - three of them - were fighting futilely against one with years of training and experience over them. An almost cruel smile crossed his features as he watched them for a moment, scrambling out of the way of the swinging weapon that looked like a toy to the angel. After all, why would children bother to fight against what they could not control? Why would children fight against the 'Desians'? The leader of the three was obvious: the reckless one in red with dual blades that he swung with obvious inept skill but with a true lack of expertise signifying no father or mentor to teach him. He was self-taught and the only thing saving him from death was his determination and his inherited ability to wield. The smallest of the group - short and silver haired - was mentally tired from his summoning skills of magic. The blond-haired girl's weapons deflected in their spins back to her when they hit armor or the wrecking ball the enemy tossed around like it was nothing.

And then the enemy took aim at her when her final weapon deflected off slowly denting armor. If it had not caused a sore or penetrated the armor in some shape or form, the weapons had certainly brought more attention than the oldest boy's blades or the youngest boys incantations. She was rushed then, the ball-and-chain weapon being raised to swing violently towards her upper torso. It seemed as if she found herself unable to move for one reason or another.

"Colette! Watch out!"

The oldest boy had cried out in panic and made a made dash to her side. His smaller frame made him quicker than the enemy and he was able to successfully push his companion off and out of harm's way. Yet, it was clear to even the boy himself that his movements were not quick enough to save himself as well. The ball blunted him, smashing into his shoulder venomously, and he was picked off his feet and thrown backwards to the cold ground with a yelp.

"Lloyd!"

_...Lloyd?_

The name snapped the observing man back to reality and he drew his weapon. It was reactive, like he was an angry friend or parent horrified that someone had hurt someone so dear to them. It took little to no effort for his blade to flare, concentrating and formulating energy from all ends of the blade to the tip. And then all the tip needed to do was swing just above the ground so it brushed the soil and it would be released. He swung it just as he needed to, the energy shooting into the dirt that welcomed and propelled it in a direct attack towards the enemy that approached the red-coated boy off. In seconds, he had moved from such a distant position, following his attack, to put himself in between the boy and the enemy fighter.

"Who are you!" he heard the boy yell in shock, apparently never having expected anyone other than the other two who were already there to come to his rescue.

The enemy seemed to have had changed its mind now. The man was in no mood to give it a chance to barrel back at the teenager and his friends. He rushed forward to meet the danger head on. "Get out of the way!"

His blade raised, but just enough to become an offensive weapon, as he sprinted forward. He realized that from this angle the ball-chained weapon moved surprisingly slow within his vision. He smiled, if only a little, in a satisfied manner. **_This_** was child's play.

Spiked metal, weighing at least half of what he did, swinging towards him with all the laws of physics did not intimidate him. And it certainly did not stop him. The man continued his rush, pulling his body down and under, so close to the enemy's weapon that his unkept red-brown hair slide itself against the tips of the deadly spikes. It was such precision in a dodge that he slid against the dirt part of the way in his duck before he was in front of the now helpless enemy. Although the enemy's size was much greater, he held no advantage over the man who had penetrated his only real defense. Hot metal - a blade of sudden fire - came up with the red haired man as he snapped himself up from the crouch. His own weapon swung forward and into flesh before continuing its defined ascent. The sick ripping of flesh screamed across the blade as it ejected itself through torso and then out of the middle of a thick burly neck. Blood exploded into an array of directions, shooting towards the man who had struck his enemy down in one solid blow. However, by magic or actual distance - or even a bit of both - the blood gushed and fell just short of him, crumpling like rain to the ground. The body stood there only as a shadow of what it had been seconds prior. Eyes rolled to the back of the head, the wrecking ball started to limp in the body's hands. Its last propelled movement was coming back towards the victor as the weapon's master's body toppled over lifelessly; but even that last attempt was thwarted with the weapon swinging harmlessly past the man's shoulder to smash into the ground with its owner. The sword came out of its rounded flight path to resettle itself down by the man's side and then movement temporarily ceased. The victor was the only left standing.

Well, not quite. His attention shifted from the dead body now towards the superior officer who had been observing. This was the hated 'Desian' that had ordered his subordinate to attack the children in the first place. The man didn't smile even at the sense of rage and fear that the Desian expressed and let emanate through body language and raw senses.

Botta, as he had come to learn, was not a very difficult one to characterize as far as emotion.

"I never thought you'd show up," Botta snarled, and the other couldn't help but tilt his head to the side in slight amusement, although his face showed nothing of the sort. Yes, Botta, so easily aroused by his emotions.

And what was his reasoning? It didn't really matter, Botta's reasoning nowhere near compared to his own. Yet, he had still remained loyal in the end. So why hadn't Botta?

Perhaps it didn't matter.

Botta would be paying dearly for his betrayal eventually.

"Damn..." Music to his ears. The voice of defeat. He watched Botta back away, looking irritatingly between his remaining troops, "Retreat for now."

And they were gone.

There was nothing left to observe facing the way the impostors had retreated, so the man returned his attention behind him to the three children - the girl and younger boy working to help the older one to his feet. Had they said anything prior to bringing his attention to them he had not heard it. His expression softened considerably upon observing them. "Is everyone all right?" he finally asked, studying them closely. The rip in the eldest boy's shoulder concerned him for one reason or another that he couldn't place, but the boy made it clear to everyone around him that it wasn't as bad as it looked. The attack had thrown him to the ground quite well, but the spikes had not been able to catch his shoulder and dig deep enough to cause a particularly damaging wound. "Everyone seems to be all right."

The red-clothed boy, now standing, stepped slightly forward with his mouth open in preparation to speak. However, he never got that far as another voice from behind diverted their attention away.

"How can I ever thank you for saving the Chosen?"

At the entrance to the chapel area that the confrontation had taken place at, a frail old women had wobbled her way out to speak now that the danger was enough passed. Her voice was joyous and thankful, directed towards the man who had saved the three children from their potential doom.

"...I see," the man finally responded, turning his attention back to the blond-haired girl to nod respectfully towards her. He grimaced inwardly at such a fake sign of reverence from himself. "So this girl is the next Chosen." How unsurprising, he concluded. She looked more like Martel than anyone else he had ever seen.

"That's right," the girl responded immediately, moving just past her red-coated friend. "I have to go accept the oracle! Grandmother, I'm going to undergo the trial now."

The man bit his tongue. How utterly innocent she was...

"What trial?" the oldest boy asked inquisitively. He seemed genuinely uninformed.

...and how naive all of them really were.

"The monsters, I would assume," the dark-clothed rescuer offered in explanation, "An evil presence radiates from the temple."

"That's right," the old woman offered in further detail. "She's to receive judgment from the heavens. But the priests that were to accompany her fell at the hands of the Desians."

"Then I'll take on the job of protecting Colette!" the boy responded eagerly, stepping up beside the Chosen. The man himself was momentarily surprised by such dedication. He had once shown dedication to a young woman himself like that, but it had not turned out anywhere near like he had hoped. He wondered what this boy expected from his dedications, especially when his dedications were to a Chosen. If only he knew the fate that awaited her, he might have been more cautious with where and to whom he threw his loyalty at.

The woman, however, did not see it the exact same way that the man saw it, however: she did not see it as a young knight wanting nothing more than to protect his princess and win her affections. "Lloyd? … I would be uneasy with just you."

_...Lloyd...?_

Again, there it was. When he had first heard the boy's name, he had assumed it was simply a trick being played on his mind due to the surreal trance he had been lulled into observing the participants of the battle. He had convinced himself mentally before entering the battle, despite his instincts denying it, that it was only a reminder from the past due to this setting being so close to where his life had all went and gone to hell.

His heart constricted, not unlike his lungs had done in invigorating agony during his plummet from Derris-Kharlan to the earth. But it was not invigorating. It was hurtful agony that brought nothing but pain. ANNA... his Anna... had named their son Lloyd. His Anna... who had wanted nothing more than to live in peace and see life as it was meant to be lived. His Anna... who was dead.

And so was his Lloyd.

He sheathed his weapon to distract attention from his other hand clenching into a regretting fist. "…Your name is Lloyd?"

Lloyd turned to him now, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. Apparently, to this boy, that was an unusual presentation of a question. "Yeah, but who are you to ask for my name?"

Defensive with a touch of brash cockiness. The same combination that outlined the basics of Lloyd's amateur fighting skills. The man swallowed, forcing himself to retain a steady line of emotion, "I am Kratos, a mercenary." That was all Lloyd needed to know.

Yes, Kratos Aurion, the "mercenary". That was as good of an alias as he could muster. It was as convincing as he could get it for conveniently showing up in time to prevent the Chosen from being killed by the dreaded "Desians". He turned towards the old woman who had resorted to listening quietly for the time being. "As long as you can pay me, I will be able to offer my services, including the protection of the Chosen through her trials should you desire."

Kratos had to admit that the 'Desians' had done him a favor. As close as the Chosen had to come to premature death, the imposters had made Kratos' duty that much easier to accomplish than the angel had originally hoped for.

"… Under the circumstances, I have little choice," she answered hesitantly. "Please be of service."

Kratos nodded, satisfied with her request and her lack of suspicions. **_Especially_** her lack of suspicions. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, though, Kratos found himself angry at that stupid acceptance. He wondered momentarily if this woman was even her real grandmother or someone who just believe they were 'playing a role to the Chosen.' If it had been his son, he never would have accepted anyone's help so easily. Then again, if it had been his son, he never would have let him go through with being the Chosen even if it meant the entire world would crumble and waste away. "It's a deal then."

Lloyd, however, was not finished with the conversation that had been started. "W… Wait! I'm going, too!"

Kratos stiffened, turning back towards Lloyd, instinct wanting to open his mouth and simple say 'no'. "Lloyd, you'll only get in the way. Be a good boy and wait here." That wasn't how he had wanted it to come out, Kratos realized too late. This 'Lloyd' was not his son, no matter how much he wanted his son back. Wait here? Only a father would be so concerned and he was not this boy's father.

Even if some small part of him wished it so.

Kratos' response was not taken as protectively as it had been meant. Rather, it was taken insultingly and Lloyd jumped to defend himself. "What did you say!"

"Did I not make myself clear?" Kratos snapped, frustration filling his normally clear train of thoughts. Whatever the argument, he almost never let his temper flare. He'd been in enough and witnessed enough of them between Yuan and Yggdrassil to know how to correctly handle such a thing. So why did this boy, of all people, frustrate him with his brashness? "You're a burden. Go home."

And then, the unthinkable happened. Colette, shy in her manner, stepped forward in between Kratos and Lloyd, looking up at Kratos pleadingly. The mercenary blinked, slightly taken aback by the interference and what followed. "Um, Mr. Kratos? Would it be okay to take Lloyd along too?"

_What! _"...But..."

"Please. I get nervous when Lloyd's not around."

He wanted to call her on her bluff, but somehow Kratos felt that it wasn't a bluff. Although he was quite sure she had spoken up only to try and please Lloyd by getting him to come, he was not so sure her words were false. An annoyed sigh escaped his lips, and he turned, turning away from the group. "Do as you wish..."

He started to walk now, moving by the old woman who submissively stood off to the side of the entrance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the young Chosen scamper after him to enter behind. And further behind him, he heard Lloyd express to the younger boy his excitement.

"Let's go, Genis!"

"What? I'm going in, too?"

"Of course!"

"This isn't a field trip you know," Kratos growled back over his shoulder, although he was sure his words would go ignored if they were even heard.

"Thanks, Colette!" Kratos heard Lloyd call as the two of them momentarily slowed down as Kratos proceeded forward and into the chapel. And he was sure that even from his distance from them and only half-paying attention to their conversation that he heard Colette giggle and positively respond to Lloyd.

"It's the truth!"

Kratos smiled ruefully. If it really was, that was probably the only truth that those two really knew, for everything else they had grown up knowing would soon be realized as one of the biggest lies ever conjured.

And by then, there would be nothing they could do about it.

_Anna... please forgive me._

**/end Chapter 1**

15/02/05

- _Seiko Eiri_


End file.
